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Arcadia hoping to draw new attention and shed past

The Tree of Knowledge at dusk in Arcadia. Thought to have been planted in 1889, the large oak is now set in a quaint corner park with a concert
pavilion adjacent to the historic Oak Park Inn. Long ago, the same oak was
called the "Hanging Tree," reputed site of lynchings by the Ku Klux Klan.

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Not blessed with a tourist-friendly coastline but still vulnerable to our manic brand of hurricanes, DeSoto's roughly 35,000 people and its county seat, Arcadia, have learned to scrape by.

Over time, as other counties balked at taking in sex criminals, troubled and violent youth or the seriously mentally ill, DeSoto opened its doors.

Along the way, it picked up a bad-boy persona, one that dates back to the shoot-'em-up saloon days of the late 1800s.

But it would be a mistake to write off DeSoto or Arcadia, population 7,600, based on images of a backwater Florida, a threadbare, racist throwback to the days when the local newspaper advertised KKK cross burnings, the law wrongfully threw a black man in prison for poisoning his seven children, or fearful citizens torched the home of a family with AIDS.

Not everyone in town knows that the massive "Tree of Knowledge" was once nicknamed the "Hanging Tree" for its history of lynchings.

A diverse group, primarily second- and third-generation townspeople, say Arcadia's racist past is receding as the numbers of blacks, whites and Hispanics begin to even out and their children get to know each other at the local high school.

So they reject Arcadia's legacy and look instead to its potential.

Pay attention, they say. Look again with fresh eyes.

Their hometown is classic Old Florida, boasting the gorgeous, aptly named Peace River, a charming downtown full of antique stores and establishments with homemade pies and English tea, a popular rodeo, more than 400 restored homes and buildings on the National Register of Historic Places, and watercolor vistas that stretch on forever with not a human soul in sight.

They believe Arcadia has a choice: Maintain the financially shaky, insular status quo or risk opening the small town to the world to keep it alive.

"I love DeSoto County. I never fell out of love with it," says Ashley Coone, 30, an Arcadia native who took over as executive director of the DeSoto Chamber of Commerce in June. "My parents still live in the same house where I grew up."

Wild and sweet

Head east about 40 miles from the pretty subdivisions of Lakewood Ranch or the wealth and culture of Sarasota, and you can feel the decades peeling away.

Traveling to DeSoto, you pass the occasional lumbering truck filled with oranges, maybe a trailer loaded with cows -- but not much else. Billboards peek from the moss-draped oaks and palmetto scrub to remind all that beef is what's for dinner here in cattle country.

Steak may be a regular feature on some tables, but Hamburger Helper is the entree du jour on many others. Much of the county's spread-out land is owned by a handful of wealthy ranchers and citrus growers, while low-paid workers abound. Unemployment in June was at 8.1 percent, a full point above the state figure.

According to the U.S. government, 31 percent of the county's residents live below the poverty line, almost double the state figure. Median household income is $35,395, far below the $44,736 statewide number.

Phosphate mined along the Peace River brought wealth to some back in 1881, when the area was settled, and it might again. Phosphate companies are considering DeSoto and neighboring Hardee County for new mines.

A recent study funded by a phosphate industry consultant shows the mines likely would destroy wetlands and streams. The companies promise mitigation, but details for what that means remain sketchy.

Still, if phosphate mines pump up the puny tax base, history suggests the movers and shakers here will say OK.

Arcadia has always been a colorful, scrappy place prepared to do what it takes to survive.

"It was one of the wildest in Florida" when saloon brawls were common in the 1890s, says town historian Carol Mahler. "Cowmen" or "counters" rode herd. But when the town burned down on Thanksgiving Day in 1905, people came from all over the area to help rebuild.

Fortuitously, town leaders prohibited wooden structures -- too flammable, they said -- and so the brick replacements downtown remain intact today, creating the perfect backdrop for a quaint antique shopping district that's gaining a reputation as the best in the state.

A common refrain in town is that residents know each other and all their extended kin.

"To me, the essence of Arcadia is kindness," Mahler says. "It draws the kinds of people who help each other."

A craving for jobs

Although she arrived in 1974, Debby Snyder jokes that she is finally shaking her newcomer status.

She's on the DeSoto School Board, and after retiring as assistant director of the school district's human resources department, was asked to head the DeSoto Chamber of Commerce. She retired from that job in late May.

"I know people hear 'Arcadia' and think, 'Ewww,'" Snyder says. "But we get people here who are tired of the frantic pace. People here know each other, and look out for each other."

Population has flatlined for the last several years, and the city still staggers from the recent economic punches, she says.

G. Pierce Wood Memorial, a state-run mental hospital, came to DeSoto County in 1947, and acquired a reputation as a place of physical abuse and gruesome accidents.

However, it provided needed jobs -- more than 200 in direct employment.

Better medications and a shift in the way mentally ill patients were treated -- along with concerns about patient safety -- led to the hospital's closing in 2002.

"Its closing hurt us in a couple of ways," Snyder says. "There were hundreds of people out of work, and some of the patients were turned loose in our community, where they struggle on the streets."

Although other counties shied away from it, in 1999 DeSoto accepted the state's only Jimmy Ryce correctional center, where sex offenders are confined after they have completed their sentences but aren't yet deemed rehabilitated.

True, these are not chamber of commerce-type businesses, but the center did bring more jobs to town.

DeSoto stepped up yet again when the state was looking to place for a juvenile correctional facility, one designed for young people with emotional issues contributing to their criminal behavior.

The 803-acre operation opened at the deserted mental hospital site, and the county heaved a sigh of relief at the return of jobs.

But as a small place without much clout in the Florida Legislature, the county lost the facility in the waning hours of the session in 2011. Now, the vast space sits empty, with rusty chains across the entryways, and bleak dorms scattered about in the shadows of the spooky-looking mental hospital.

Still, in a measure of the importance of the state prison and other correctional facilities to the county's economy, Florida figures show nearly 30 percent of DeSoto's jobs are with the government. The state average is 14.5 percent.

Unwelcome visitor

Beyond the economic turbulence that has thrashed the county, Hurricane Charley dealt its own blow.

The Category 4 hurricane devastated DeSoto in 2004 after making landfall earlier in Punta Gorda.

More than 61 percent of the homes in DeSoto County were damaged, but hardest hit were farmworkers, a vital part of the agricultural economy. About 80 percent of them lost their homes, typically flimsy dwellings unable to withstand strong winds.

Sister Cathy Buster stepped in.

The energetic nun, vice president of Catholic Charities Housing for the Diocese of Venice, decided to build 53 sturdy, three- and four-bedroom, single-family homes for farmworkers displaced by the storm.

"Charley was a total disaster," Buster recalls. "Some of the workers were living in cardboard boxes."

The process wasn't easy. Part of the challenge was convincing people in town that building the Casa San Juan Bosco neighborhood was worthwhile. Neighbors blocked at least one attempt to build.

"People would ask me why we were doing this for them," she says, with the emphasis on "them."

"They said the families won't keep the houses looking nice, that they won't last a year. But I know they will not destroy them -- they take pride in them."

The tidy subdivision began leasing in February, and more than 40 families have moved in so far.

Some have been surprised to learn they don't have to share their home with others. Some are confused by their new washers and dryers, which don't have slots for quarters like those at the laundromat. Some of the children express fear of playing on the grass.

"I want them to feel comfortable in their new neighborhood," Buster says.

She knows this is just one project designed to address rampant economic problems in DeSoto County. The Diocese of Venice began providing assorted social services there in the 1980s.

Beyond poverty and unemployment, education is another problem. DeSoto County schools regularly post test scores on statewide exams 20 percentage points lower than the state average. Its five schools received a D on annual grades released July 26, with the exception of the DeSoto High School, whose grade is pending.

The manufacturing of methamphetamine, which relies as much on remote rural areas and unemployed people as large numbers of over-the-counter cold pills, is an ongoing problem. In a recent report that gained widespread media attention, an Arcadia woman was arrested when police found meth hidden in her baby's shoe.

Many of the area's Hispanic farmworkers continue to live in substandard housing, and most blacks live in economically depressed areas of town still routinely referred to as the "quarters" and the "bottoms." Minorities taken together now outnumber white people in Arcadia.

In late May, Charles Lee, Arcadia's city marshal, resigned while under investigation for theft by the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.

In July, an investigation began by FDLE and the FBI in response to a complaint filed by an inmate at the DeSoto County jail who said he was beaten by guards. He had been arrested for battering his girlfriend, who works at the jail. A grand jury will hear the case in August.

Deep roots

Justin Sorrells was born and raised in DeSoto County, and has worked in his family's citrus business since he first pushed a lawn mower there at age 13.

His only time away was at Florida Southern College in Lakeland, where he majored in -- what else? -- the business of citrus.

"I always knew I wanted to be in the family business," says Sorrells. "I always knew I wanted to come back. This isn't just a pit stop for me. I'm proud to be from Arcadia."

His wife, Amy, also was born and raised here -- most likely a must, he concedes.

"To bring someone who wasn't raised in a small town here would be a culture shock," he says. "For all of Arcadia's fantastic qualities, we don't have a Publix or a bunch of restaurants."

It's a treat when he and his wife travel to the nearest Publix, 20 miles away in Port Charlotte.

Sorrells remains loyal to the town for its "sense of community and sense of pride."

And yes, he knows the town has its problems.

"The school system might be lagging because it's multi-lingual and multi-racial," he says. "That skews its scores. But Arcadia's church system has good afterschool programs for children."

He is a strong financial supporter of Links2Success, a new program started by Coone for middle school students.

Even when Coone went off to earn a master's degree in management and leadership from Webster University, she says she never lost her attachment to her hometown.

As executive director, Coone plans to promote the area to new businesses.

Even a generation ago, it likely would have shocked the town's power brokers to see a black woman in charge of the chamber.

"We have come a very long way," Coone says. "This position speaks against that idea of racism here."

She says she will also try to promote more integration in planned activities in town.

Sorrells, who is 32, believes it will be up to his and Coone's generation to start to make the changes necessary to move Arcadia forward.

A key is enticing new industry into the county, he believes.

"The unknown scares anybody," he says. "You can get worried about more cars on the road. The old-timers might want things to stay the same. We have to show that if you bring in two new industries, you can get four great places to shop.

"Right now, the Walmart is our mall."

But the Walmart in town employs about 300 people, and the Walmart Distribution Center in southern DeSoto County has more than 500 on the payroll, making the company the largest private employer in the county, ahead of DeSoto's hospital, Peace River Citrus and other agricultural operations.

About two years ago -- and after much convincing of reluctant citizens -- the county passed a "bed tax" on hotel rooms. The money is being used by the new economic development office to promote the town.

Longtime resident Becky Bragg is an ardent supporter of rural tourism. She graduated from the University of Florida College of Architecture, later joining her family-owned canoe outfitting business on the Peace River.

The Canoe Outpost was founded in 1969 and typically sends 30,000 to 50,000 people annually down the river and to camping sites nearby.

Bragg markets to other cities and brings in visitors from throughout the state.

She wishes Arcadia would learn to make better use of its assets.

"We don't utilize the river, and we don't have much walkability or bicycling," she says. "Our gateways into town are ugly."

The town is a funny mix of lovingly restored turn-of-the-century homes and run-down houses, often side by side.

But Arcadia's annual rodeo is a popular draw, she points out, as is the downtown antique district. The river draws paddlers and families hunting fossils in the soft sandy banks.

"What frustrates me is a lack of enthusiasm from local government to help promote nature and tourism here," she says.

Mandy Hines, DeSoto County's coordinator for economic development, has been promoting the area on a website called "Discover DeSoto." It features travel packages, photos and information on the town.

She also is trying to draw more businesses.

"We're open for any industry we can get," she says. "Small businesses, start-up businesses -- we'll take those all day long."

Moving forward

Dennis Tyson and Bruce Neveau retired to Arcadia in 2009, moving into a 1904 home that needed some tender loving care. They restored it and stocked it with period antiques, eventually getting it on the National Register of Historic Places.

But all the while, they wondered why downtown had no tea room. Ultimately, they decided to open one themselves.

Mary Margaret's Tea and Biscuit, named for their mothers, also features homey period antiques and the recipes of Neveau's great-grandmother from Liverpool.

"Everybody in town calls us 'the boys,'" says Tyson, the more outgoing of the pair. Both don top hats and tails most days to greet customers.

Weekends usually mean an hour wait for seating, and the restaurant hosts a number of Red Hat Society meetings. Arcadia has not always been as accepting.

For many, the city is forever linked with a nationally played-out tragedy at the height of AIDS paranoia in 1987.

Three brothers in the Ray family, Arcadia natives, were barred from attending school when they disclosed they had contracted the HIV virus as hemophiliacs.

The federal court sided with the family, but a week later, their home was destroyed by an arson fire.

In another tragedy that still troubles some in town, James Joseph Richardson, a black migrant farmworker, was convicted in 1967 for poisoning his seven children.

"Arcadia," a book published in 1970 about the case, pilloried the town as a racist throwback quick to blame Richardson when contradictory evidence existed.

He was exonerated in 1989.

Just about anyone in town will say, in quiet voices, that racism still exists, but all agree it is getting better. Mostly, they say, it's the old-timers who hold those notions. Many express whispered embarrassment at what they have heard their own parents say.

The younger people, who have had more occasion to spend time with those of different races, are more tolerant.

Tyson says Arcadia has always been welcoming to him and his partner, with downtown merchants who refer customers to each other and work together to help the area flourish.

He and Neveau helped form Team Arcadia, dedicated to making the town better. It recently replaced the fountainhead at one of the entrances to the city.

Another project underway will refurbish McSwain Park, near the chamber of commerce building and the downtown antique district. It will feature an interactive play fountain, a gazebo, garden and playground.

"We want this to be a focal point for the community, a place families can come," says Snyder. "We're counting on the community to make it happen."

<p>DeSoto County, by some accounts the poorest county in the state, has long been willing to pull the linty change from Florida's sofa cushions if it meant a paycheck for its people.</p><p>Not blessed with a tourist-friendly coastline but still vulnerable to our manic brand of hurricanes, DeSoto's roughly 35,000 people and its county seat, Arcadia, have learned to scrape by.</p><p>Over time, as other counties balked at taking in sex criminals, troubled and violent youth or the seriously mentally ill, DeSoto opened its doors.</p><p>Along the way, it picked up a bad-boy persona, one that dates back to the shoot-'em-up saloon days of the late 1800s.</p><p>But it would be a mistake to write off DeSoto or Arcadia, population 7,600, based on images of a backwater Florida, a threadbare, racist throwback to the days when the local newspaper advertised KKK cross burnings, the law wrongfully threw a black man in prison for poisoning his seven children, or fearful citizens torched the home of a family with AIDS.</p><p>Not everyone in town knows that the massive "Tree of Knowledge" was once nicknamed the "Hanging Tree" for its history of lynchings.</p><p>A diverse group, primarily second- and third-generation townspeople, say Arcadia's racist past is receding as the numbers of blacks, whites and Hispanics begin to even out and their children get to know each other at the local high school.</p><p>So they reject Arcadia's legacy and look instead to its potential.</p><p>Pay attention, they say. Look again with fresh eyes.</p><p>Their hometown is classic Old Florida, boasting the gorgeous, aptly named Peace River, a charming downtown full of antique stores and establishments with homemade pies and English tea, a popular rodeo, more than 400 restored homes and buildings on the National Register of Historic Places, and watercolor vistas that stretch on forever with not a human soul in sight.</p><p>They believe Arcadia has a choice: Maintain the financially shaky, insular status quo or risk opening the small town to the world to keep it alive.</p><p>"I love DeSoto County. I never fell out of love with it," says Ashley Coone, 30, an Arcadia native who took over as executive director of the DeSoto Chamber of Commerce in June. "My parents still live in the same house where I grew up."</p><p><B>Wild and sweet</b></p><p>Head east about 40 miles from the pretty subdivisions of Lakewood Ranch or the wealth and culture of Sarasota, and you can feel the decades peeling away.</p><p>Traveling to DeSoto, you pass the occasional lumbering truck filled with oranges, maybe a trailer loaded with cows -- but not much else. Billboards peek from the moss-draped oaks and palmetto scrub to remind all that beef is what's for dinner here in cattle country.</p><p>Steak may be a regular feature on some tables, but Hamburger Helper is the entree du jour on many others. Much of the county's spread-out land is owned by a handful of wealthy ranchers and citrus growers, while low-paid workers abound. Unemployment in June was at 8.1 percent, a full point above the state figure.</p><p>According to the U.S. government, 31 percent of the county's residents live below the poverty line, almost double the state figure. Median household income is $35,395, far below the $44,736 statewide number.</p><p>Phosphate mined along the Peace River brought wealth to some back in 1881, when the area was settled, and it might again. Phosphate companies are considering DeSoto and neighboring Hardee County for new mines.</p><p>A recent study funded by a phosphate industry consultant shows the mines likely would destroy wetlands and streams. The companies promise mitigation, but details for what that means remain sketchy.</p><p>Still, if phosphate mines pump up the puny tax base, history suggests the movers and shakers here will say OK.</p><p>Arcadia has always been a colorful, scrappy place prepared to do what it takes to survive.</p><p>"It was one of the wildest in Florida" when saloon brawls were common in the 1890s, says town historian Carol Mahler. "Cowmen" or "counters" rode herd. But when the town burned down on Thanksgiving Day in 1905, people came from all over the area to help rebuild.</p><p>Fortuitously, town leaders prohibited wooden structures -- too flammable, they said -- and so the brick replacements downtown remain intact today, creating the perfect backdrop for a quaint antique shopping district that's gaining a reputation as the best in the state.</p><p>A common refrain in town is that residents know each other and all their extended kin.</p><p>"To me, the essence of Arcadia is kindness," Mahler says. "It draws the kinds of people who help each other."</p><p><B>A craving for jobs</B></p><p>Although she arrived in 1974, Debby Snyder jokes that she is finally shaking her newcomer status.</p><p>She's on the DeSoto School Board, and after retiring as assistant director of the school district's human resources department, was asked to head the DeSoto Chamber of Commerce. She retired from that job in late May.</p><p>"I know people hear 'Arcadia' and think, 'Ewww,'" Snyder says. "But we get people here who are tired of the frantic pace. People here know each other, and look out for each other."</p><p>Population has flatlined for the last several years, and the city still staggers from the recent economic punches, she says.</p><p>G. Pierce Wood Memorial, a state-run mental hospital, came to DeSoto County in 1947, and acquired a reputation as a place of physical abuse and gruesome accidents.</p><p>However, it provided needed jobs -- more than 200 in direct employment.</p><p>Better medications and a shift in the way mentally ill patients were treated -- along with concerns about patient safety -- led to the hospital's closing in 2002.</p><p>"Its closing hurt us in a couple of ways," Snyder says. "There were hundreds of people out of work, and some of the patients were turned loose in our community, where they struggle on the streets."</p><p>Although other counties shied away from it, in 1999 DeSoto accepted the state's only Jimmy Ryce correctional center, where sex offenders are confined after they have completed their sentences but aren't yet deemed rehabilitated.</p><p>True, these are not chamber of commerce-type businesses, but the center did bring more jobs to town.</p><p>DeSoto stepped up yet again when the state was looking to place for a juvenile correctional facility, one designed for young people with emotional issues contributing to their criminal behavior.</p><p>The 803-acre operation opened at the deserted mental hospital site, and the county heaved a sigh of relief at the return of jobs.</p><p>But as a small place without much clout in the Florida Legislature, the county lost the facility in the waning hours of the session in 2011. Now, the vast space sits empty, with rusty chains across the entryways, and bleak dorms scattered about in the shadows of the spooky-looking mental hospital.</p><p>Still, in a measure of the importance of the state prison and other correctional facilities to the county's economy, Florida figures show nearly 30 percent of DeSoto's jobs are with the government. The state average is 14.5 percent.</p><p><B>Unwelcome visitor</b></p><p>Beyond the economic turbulence that has thrashed the county, Hurricane Charley dealt its own blow.</p><p>The Category 4 hurricane devastated DeSoto in 2004 after making landfall earlier in Punta Gorda.</p><p>"We call things B.C. and A.C. -- before Charley and after Charley," Snyder says.</p><p>More than 61 percent of the homes in DeSoto County were damaged, but hardest hit were farmworkers, a vital part of the agricultural economy. About 80 percent of them lost their homes, typically flimsy dwellings unable to withstand strong winds.</p><p>Sister Cathy Buster stepped in.</p><p>The energetic nun, vice president of Catholic Charities Housing for the Diocese of Venice, decided to build 53 sturdy, three- and four-bedroom, single-family homes for farmworkers displaced by the storm.</p><p>"Charley was a total disaster," Buster recalls. "Some of the workers were living in cardboard boxes."</p><p>The process wasn't easy. Part of the challenge was convincing people in town that building the Casa San Juan Bosco neighborhood was worthwhile. Neighbors blocked at least one attempt to build.</p><p>"People would ask me why we were doing this for them," she says, with the emphasis on "them."</p><p>"They said the families won't keep the houses looking nice, that they won't last a year. But I know they will not destroy them -- they take pride in them."</p><p>The tidy subdivision began leasing in February, and more than 40 families have moved in so far.</p><p>Some have been surprised to learn they don't have to share their home with others. Some are confused by their new washers and dryers, which don't have slots for quarters like those at the laundromat. Some of the children express fear of playing on the grass.</p><p>"I want them to feel comfortable in their new neighborhood," Buster says.</p><p>She knows this is just one project designed to address rampant economic problems in DeSoto County. The Diocese of Venice began providing assorted social services there in the 1980s.</p><p>Beyond poverty and unemployment, education is another problem. DeSoto County schools regularly post test scores on statewide exams 20 percentage points lower than the state average. Its five schools received a D on annual grades released July 26, with the exception of the DeSoto High School, whose grade is pending.</p><p>The manufacturing of methamphetamine, which relies as much on remote rural areas and unemployed people as large numbers of over-the-counter cold pills, is an ongoing problem. In a recent report that gained widespread media attention, an Arcadia woman was arrested when police found meth hidden in her baby's shoe.</p><p>Many of the area's Hispanic farmworkers continue to live in substandard housing, and most blacks live in economically depressed areas of town still routinely referred to as the "quarters" and the "bottoms." Minorities taken together now outnumber white people in Arcadia.</p><p>In late May, Charles Lee, Arcadia's city marshal, resigned while under investigation for theft by the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.</p><p>In July, an investigation began by FDLE and the FBI in response to a complaint filed by an inmate at the DeSoto County jail who said he was beaten by guards. He had been arrested for battering his girlfriend, who works at the jail. A grand jury will hear the case in August.</p><p><B>Deep roots</b></p><p>Justin Sorrells was born and raised in DeSoto County, and has worked in his family's citrus business since he first pushed a lawn mower there at age 13.</p><p>His only time away was at Florida Southern College in Lakeland, where he majored in -- what else? -- the business of citrus.</p><p>"I always knew I wanted to be in the family business," says Sorrells. "I always knew I wanted to come back. This isn't just a pit stop for me. I'm proud to be from Arcadia."</p><p>His wife, Amy, also was born and raised here -- most likely a must, he concedes.</p><p>"To bring someone who wasn't raised in a small town here would be a culture shock," he says. "For all of Arcadia's fantastic qualities, we don't have a Publix or a bunch of restaurants."</p><p>It's a treat when he and his wife travel to the nearest Publix, 20 miles away in Port Charlotte.</p><p>Sorrells remains loyal to the town for its "sense of community and sense of pride."</p><p>And yes, he knows the town has its problems.</p><p>"The school system might be lagging because it's multi-lingual and multi-racial," he says. "That skews its scores. But Arcadia's church system has good afterschool programs for children."</p><p>He is a strong financial supporter of Links2Success, a new program started by Coone for middle school students.</p><p>Even when Coone went off to earn a master's degree in management and leadership from Webster University, she says she never lost her attachment to her hometown.</p><p>As executive director, Coone plans to promote the area to new businesses.</p><p>Even a generation ago, it likely would have shocked the town's power brokers to see a black woman in charge of the chamber.</p><p>"We have come a very long way," Coone says. "This position speaks against that idea of racism here."</p><p>She says she will also try to promote more integration in planned activities in town.</p><p>Sorrells, who is 32, believes it will be up to his and Coone's generation to start to make the changes necessary to move Arcadia forward.</p><p>A key is enticing new industry into the county, he believes.</p><p>"The unknown scares anybody," he says. "You can get worried about more cars on the road. The old-timers might want things to stay the same. We have to show that if you bring in two new industries, you can get four great places to shop.</p><p>"Right now, the Walmart is our mall."</p><p>But the Walmart in town employs about 300 people, and the Walmart Distribution Center in southern DeSoto County has more than 500 on the payroll, making the company the largest private employer in the county, ahead of DeSoto's hospital, Peace River Citrus and other agricultural operations.</p><p>About two years ago -- and after much convincing of reluctant citizens -- the county passed a "bed tax" on hotel rooms. The money is being used by the new economic development office to promote the town.</p><p>Longtime resident Becky Bragg is an ardent supporter of rural tourism. She graduated from the University of Florida College of Architecture, later joining her family-owned canoe outfitting business on the Peace River.</p><p>The Canoe Outpost was founded in 1969 and typically sends 30,000 to 50,000 people annually down the river and to camping sites nearby.</p><p>Bragg markets to other cities and brings in visitors from throughout the state.</p><p>She wishes Arcadia would learn to make better use of its assets.</p><p>"We don't utilize the river, and we don't have much walkability or bicycling," she says. "Our gateways into town are ugly."</p><p>The town is a funny mix of lovingly restored turn-of-the-century homes and run-down houses, often side by side.</p><p>But Arcadia's annual rodeo is a popular draw, she points out, as is the downtown antique district. The river draws paddlers and families hunting fossils in the soft sandy banks.</p><p>"What frustrates me is a lack of enthusiasm from local government to help promote nature and tourism here," she says.</p><p>Mandy Hines, DeSoto County's coordinator for economic development, has been promoting the area on a website called "Discover DeSoto." It features travel packages, photos and information on the town.</p><p>She also is trying to draw more businesses.</p><p>"We're open for any industry we can get," she says. "Small businesses, start-up businesses -- we'll take those all day long."</p><p><B>Moving forward</b></p><p>Dennis Tyson and Bruce Neveau retired to Arcadia in 2009, moving into a 1904 home that needed some tender loving care. They restored it and stocked it with period antiques, eventually getting it on the National Register of Historic Places.</p><p>But all the while, they wondered why downtown had no tea room. Ultimately, they decided to open one themselves.</p><p>Mary Margaret's Tea and Biscuit, named for their mothers, also features homey period antiques and the recipes of Neveau's great-grandmother from Liverpool.</p><p>"Everybody in town calls us 'the boys,'" says Tyson, the more outgoing of the pair. Both don top hats and tails most days to greet customers.</p><p>Weekends usually mean an hour wait for seating, and the restaurant hosts a number of Red Hat Society meetings. Arcadia has not always been as accepting.</p><p>For many, the city is forever linked with a nationally played-out tragedy at the height of AIDS paranoia in 1987.</p><p>Three brothers in the Ray family, Arcadia natives, were barred from attending school when they disclosed they had contracted the HIV virus as hemophiliacs.</p><p>The federal court sided with the family, but a week later, their home was destroyed by an arson fire.</p><p>In another tragedy that still troubles some in town, James Joseph Richardson, a black migrant farmworker, was convicted in 1967 for poisoning his seven children.</p><p>"Arcadia," a book published in 1970 about the case, pilloried the town as a racist throwback quick to blame Richardson when contradictory evidence existed.</p><p>He was exonerated in 1989.</p><p>Just about anyone in town will say, in quiet voices, that racism still exists, but all agree it is getting better. Mostly, they say, it's the old-timers who hold those notions. Many express whispered embarrassment at what they have heard their own parents say.</p><p>The younger people, who have had more occasion to spend time with those of different races, are more tolerant.</p><p>Tyson says Arcadia has always been welcoming to him and his partner, with downtown merchants who refer customers to each other and work together to help the area flourish.</p><p>He and Neveau helped form Team Arcadia, dedicated to making the town better. It recently replaced the fountainhead at one of the entrances to the city.</p><p>Another project underway will refurbish McSwain Park, near the chamber of commerce building and the downtown antique district. It will feature an interactive play fountain, a gazebo, garden and playground.</p><p>"We want this to be a focal point for the community, a place families can come," says Snyder. "We're counting on the community to make it happen."</p><p>Like others here, she believes in the area's potential.</p><p>"I have high hopes that Arcadia won't just survive but will thrive."</p><p><empty></p>